


in the warm hold (of your loving mind)

by feeltripping



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Bottom Lexa, Breathplay, Dom Clarke, F/F, Face-Sitting, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Smut, Kink Negotiation, Light Dom/sub, Marking, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Restraints, Safeword Use, Strap-Ons, Sub Lexa, Subspace, Top Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 03:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7873831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feeltripping/pseuds/feeltripping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa and Clarke: kink negotiation, feelings negotiation, smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the warm hold (of your loving mind)

**Author's Note:**

> 7.5k words of porn and feelings

It starts, if Clarke is telling the story, when she gets drunk with Octavia, sitting cross-legged on the floor in Octavia and Lincoln’s apartment and giggling over cheap wine. Lincoln winces when they start a round of ‘who’s had the kinkiest sex’ and slinks away into the other room, blushing as bright as his dark skin allows. He emerges only when Octavia slumps over midramble, snoring, and Clarke throws corks at the door to let him know she’s ready to go home.

 

She stumbles into the apartment, waving at Lincoln idling at the curb before she fumbles to close the door and lock it. The lights are off and she drops her phone when she tries to flick the flashlight on. She shrugs, leaving it on the floor in the hall, and sheds her clothing in a trail until she’s in just her underwear. Lexa is a lump in their bed, curled in the middle, and Clarke falls heavily beside her. “Lex.”

Lexa blinks, sleepy. “Did you have a good time?” She’s mumbly, her eyes squinched up, and Clarke pulls at the blanket tucked around her, impatient.

“Gimme your shirt.” Clarke likes to sleep with the fan on, and Lexa likes to sleep in a big t-shirt, draping over her thighs, worn thin and soft from frequent washing. 

Lexa wakes up enough to roll her eyes. “Get your own.”

“I want yours. Wanna smell you.” Clarke faceplants into Lexa’s neck, knocking the breath out of her, and snuffles along her jaw. “Wanna taste you,” she hums, and licks, sloppy, in the general direction of Lexa’s mouth.

“Clarke,” Lexa says, exasperated, and yanks Clarke down onto the mattress, rolling over until her weight pins Clarke down. Clarke yelps, struggling, but can’t throw Lexa off. “Sshh,” Lexa says, patting her head absently. “Sleep now.”

++

Clarke wakes up when the first early rays of the sun break through their bedroom window. Lexa has rolled off her, sometime in the night, and is lying on her stomach, her face soft and relaxed. Clarke toys with going back to sleep, still faintly tipsy, and then shrugs. She slips under the sheets, wiggling down. She closes her eyes and finds Lexa’s hips by feel, lying between them. Lexa’s not wearing underwear, and Clarke sighs, nipping lazily up her inner thighs.

Lexa shifts, groans. “It’s early,” she rasps, but her legs spread and her fingers find Clarke’s hair, petting. 

“Ssh,” Clarke murmurs, licking up once, keeping her tongue flat and firm. Lexa presses down on her, and her first moan is always the sweetest. They’ve been together for long enough and fit together so well Clarke knows exactly how to play her, and it’s barely ten minutes before Lexa’s thighs start to tremble. Clarke pulls away, wiping her chin on Lexa’s belly, and worms up until her head peeks out from beneath the sheet. Lexa’s face is flushed, her lip drawn between her teeth, her hair completely mussed from sleep. Clarke kisses her, morning breath and all, and Lexa sighs into her mouth, her lips smiling. Clarke sucks on Lexa’s tongue when she slips two fingers inside her and Lexa jerks, her hips riding up and down.

“Love you,” Lexa gasps when Clarke pulls away, and Clarke grins, joyous. 

“I love you so much,” she says, and Lexa moans again. “I was talking to Octavia last night,” Clarke continues, like Lexa isn’t two minutes from shaking apart. 

Lexa groans, less sexy, more offended. “You know I don’t want to know what you share with her. It’s hard enough to look at her in the office as it is.”

Clarke curls her fingers and Lexa’s eyes squeeze shut. “I was talking to Octavia,” she repeats, starting a thrust that hits Lexa just right, every time. “And she was telling me about this game she and Lincoln play.”

“Clarke,” Lexa complains, “I do not want to talk about my cousin while you’re inside me.”

Clarke stills her fingers. Lexa is quiet for a few seconds, then she huffs. Clarke smiles, teasing. “Well you don’t want to talk, so…”

“Clarke.”

“You don’t want me to talk, maybe I don’t want to do the work. Maybe you should do the work,” Clarke says, and Lexa bites her lip again before bracing her feet on the bed, her hands above her head to grasp the bedframe. She fucks herself on Clarke’s fingers, her face scrunched in effort. “I was talking to Octavia,” Clarke says, when she’s sure Lexa won’t stop again. “About this game. She and Linc, they get all dressed up--” she twists her fingers, once, and Lexa chokes, her hips moving more rapidly. “And they go out to bars--” She sucks at Lexa’s neck, hard, “--and they pretend not to know each other. We could do fake names.” 

Abruptly, with no warning, Clarke gives her four fingers, curling, and within two twisting thrusts Lexa comes, shuddering and gasping, and Clarke cups her hand against her, protective and soothing, until she sighs, going limp. Lexa always needs a second, after coming, to pull herself out of her own head--when they play hard sometimes she needs five minutes, spacey and loopy while Clarke calls her back with soft kisses and gentle touches. Lexa’s frowning, and Clarke opens her mouth, intending to question, but Lexa tugs her down and kisses her, happy, and then urges her up until Clarke’s chest is over her face, her breasts swinging. Clarke lowers herself just enough so Lexa has to strain to reach her nipple, and presses a thumb against Lexa’s neck, to feel her heartbeat. 

“Can I?” Clarke asks, and Lexa hums, nodding fast. “Arms out.” Lexa extends her arms and settles back, Clarke tucking a pillow under her head. Clarke puts a knee just above each of Lexa’s biceps, her shins biting into Lexa’s muscle. “Show me Red.” Lexa flashes three fingers, on both hands. “Good girl,” Clarke hums, and grinds down on Lexa’s face, smothering Lexa’s eager noise. She grabs the headboard, making sure one of Lexa’s hands is in view at all times, and loses herself in Lexa’s tongue, Lexa’s lips, her own pleasure.

 

After, she licks herself off Lexa’s face and rubs feeling back into Lexa’s arms and they nap, lazy and warm and snuggled into each other.

++

It starts, if Lexa is telling the story, two weeks before that, when Clarke has coffee with Niylah, during her break, to catch up. She tells Lexa on the phone, just before, and there’s an odd moment where she lingers, waiting for Lexa’s reaction. “Okay,” is all Lexa has to offer, and they say goodbye.

 

Lexa calls Anya, and they hit up the bar Anya likes, with the shitty music and the cheap whiskey, and Lexa frowns at the table, nursing a beer, until Anya punches her and tells her to stop being such a sad bastard. Then Lexa drinks scotch until Anya cuts her off, concern pinching her face.

“Jesus Christ, kid,” Anya mutters at the curb, holding Lexa’s hair back while she vomits. “Trouble in paradise?”

Lexa wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and glares at both of the Anyas her blurred vision can make out. “Sorry, do you want to talk about feelings now?”

“Fuck off,” Anya mutters, going into Lexa’s pocket for her car keys. “I’ll drop you off, let you be the missus’ problem now.”

Lexa digs her heels in and yanks her elbow away from Anya’s helpful hands, almost pitching herself off her feet. “No.”

Anya growls. “You’re trying my patience. And you know I don’t have much.”

Lexa wobbles, falling, and Anya catches her. “Please,” Lexa says, soft. “I can’t go home like this.”

“Jesus Christ,” Anya snaps. But when she shoves Lexa into her own car and slides behind the wheel she points towards her own apartment.

“Thank you,” Lexa says, when Anya’s dumped her on a couch and tossed a blanket at her face. 

Anya tucks Lexa’s hair away from her face, hesitant, then taps her cheek. “Sleep it off, okay kid? It’ll be better in the morning.”

 

Lexa wakes up at roughly five in the morning and curses when she sees the time and her phone lying dark, dead. She staggers to the bedroom and kicks at Anya. “Clarke’s going to kill me, I never told her I was going out. Get up!”

“Fuck off,” Anya rasps, and Lexa climbs over her huddled form in the bed to the outlet behind the mattress, where Anya’s phone dangles. Lexa calls herself an Uber and bounces outside, foot to foot, anxious, until it arrives.

++

Lexa creeps into her apartment, wincing when the door squeaks. She’d taken her shoes off in the hall, and she lays them on her coat with her keys on the floor. When she straightens Clarke is standing in the entryway, arms crossed, eyes burning.

“Hi,” Lexa tries.

“You unbelievable _asshole_.”

Lexa takes a breath. “I’m sorry, I--”

Clarke holds up a hand, silencing her. Then she taps her phone, lifting it up until the voicemail plays on speaker. “This is what I got off shift to hear, at three in the morning.”

 _Clarke_ Lexa’s voice breathes on the recording, then hitches. She’s crying. In the present, Lexa winces. She does not remember that. _Clarke_ , she hears herself say, between soft sobs and whistled breaths, _I love you, baby. I love you so much_. It continues in that vein for another fifteen seconds, Lexa’s words becoming more and more hysterical, incoherent, before it clicks off, in the middle of Clarke’s name.

“Clarke,” Lexa starts, then ducks as Clarke throws the sofa pillow at her head. 

“You asshole!” Clarke flies at her and Lexa’s hands go up, automatic, but Clarke catches her around the waist, sending her stumbling back into the wall while Clarke clutches at her, shaking. “I thought you were dying,” she says into Lexa’s neck. “I called every emergency room in the city. I called Raven, Octavia, Lincoln, Costia. I called your boss.”

“You called _Indra_?” Lexa peers down at her. “Why didn’t you call Anya?”

Clarke shoves her away, moving easily from relieved concern back to anger. “Oh, why didn’t I call Anya? Why didn’t that occur to me? Why am I a _huge moron_?”

“You called Anya,” Lexa concludes.

“Of course I fucking called Anya!”

Lexa’s brow furrows. Her hangover throbs, insistent and painful. “Then you knew I was fine?”

“No,” Clarke explodes, “I did _not_ , because she still has my fucking number fucking blocked!”

Lexa presses a knuckle to between her eyes. “Can this wait? I’m tired?”

“ _You’re_ tired? I got Octavia and Lincoln up at four in the morning to drive around the streets, looking for you. My mom’s still out, checking every morgue in a fifty mile radius. Bellamy has a missing persons report already filled out, waiting to be filed. Raven wrote a program to call your phone every fifteen minutes and ping the gps.”

“It’s dead.”

Clarke slaps a palm against the wall, frustrated. “ _I know it’s dead_.”

Lexa lifts her head, squares her shoulders. “I think we should rest. We’re both… tired.”

Clarke takes a deep breath. She scrubs her hands across her face. “I have to call everyone.”

“Okay.” Lexa moves past her to sink into the couch, her head between her knees. She hears Clarke move closer.

“Sleep in the bed,” Clarke says quietly. “You know that couch is hell on your back.”

“I’m fine.” Lexa lays herself out and closes her eyes, breathing quietly through the incessant throbbing in her temples. Clarke hesitates by her side.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” is that last thing Lexa hears before she passes out. “I love you.”

++

When Lexa wakes up it’s late, and the shower is running. Clarke is working odd hours for another two days, and Lexa stumbles into the kitchen to throw together something fast, pasta and canned sauce and leftover hamburger meat. She dumps it into a tupperware while it’s still too hot, steaming up the lid, but she doesn’t have time for it to cool; the shower’s stopped. 

“Hey,” Clarke says, a few minutes later. She’s dressed, her bag already slung over a shoulder, her hair wet. 

“Hi,” Lexa says, soft. She holds out the plastic container. “For later.”

Clarke takes it. “Thanks. You’re working tomorrow?”

“Yeah. But I, uh. I’m gonna stay up tonight. We should talk?” Her voice lifts at the end, despite herself.

“Yeah,” Clarke says. She hesitates with the front door open. “I love you.”

Something eases, sudden, in Lexa’s spine, and she darts forward, kissing Clarke deep and soft. “I love you.”

++

“I freaked out,” Clarke says, later, sitting on the couch and stifling a yawn. “It was--I don’t know. This little girl died at the hospital, and I was exhausted, and I got scared, and I just--” She sighs. “Everyone told me I was overreacting, but I.” She sighs again. “I’m sorry I threw something at you. And don’t say it’s okay, because it’s not.”

Lexa sits beside her and presses a plate of takeout into her hands. “Eat something.” She waits until Clarke has scarfed down a few bites. “I’m sorry I scared you. I--Anya and I went to a bar, I drank too much.” She half shrugs. “I don’t even remember calling you.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “The biggest fight we’ve had in three years and you don’t even remember calling me.” She puts her plate aside and leans back. She’s slow when she taps her thighs, inviting at the same time she says, “if you need some time--” Lexa slides into her lap before she can finish, straddling her. She digs her fingers into Clarke’s shoulders, massaging, and Clarke sighs, long and pleased.

“I am sorry,” Lexa says, pressing a kiss to Clarke’s forehead, “that I scared you. Anya sends her apologies.” Clarke snorts. “She has unblocked your number,” Lexa amends. She nips at Clarke’s jaw, and when Clarke leans her head back she suckles into the hollows of her throat, deep and hard enough it’s already bruising when she pulls away.

Clarke makes another noise, asking without words, and sinks lower, her legs spreading. She’s still wearing scrubs, thin, and Lexa kisses her, gentle, licking into her open yielding mouth. “I love you,” Clarke says when she breaks for a breath, and Lexa rubs their noses together.

“Lay down,” Lexa murmurs, and flows over Clarke’s body, settling them down onto the couch, prone. She lies between Clarke’s legs, pushing up her shirt to kiss softly across her belly, drag her teeth over her hips. Clarke’s legs fall open, even wider, and she sinks her fingers into Lexa’s hair, scratching at her scalp. Lexa pushes her hands under Clarke’s body. “I love your curves,” she murmurs, tracing Clarke’s back, “and your ass.” Clarke snorts under her, almost giggling. “It’s a great ass,” Lexa sighs, giving it a squeeze. “My favorite, even.”

Clarke flicks her forehead, grinning, and Lexa nips her finger, drawing it into her mouth and sucking. “You’re playful tonight,” Clarke murmurs. She adds another finger, then two more, every digit except her thumb, Lexa’s lips stretched tight, her jaw starting to ache. Lexa moans around them and climbs back up, settling her thigh firmly against Clarke and rocking. Clarke rubs her tongue, soft, and then hard enough Lexa gags a little. She bites down on Clarke’s fingers, gentle, and Clarke withdraws them, murmuring an apology.

Lexa steps up to strip, then helps Clarke drag off her pants, her underwear, before falling back onto her with a smile. They don’t say anything for a long time, rocking against each other with little sighs and soft kisses. Of the two of them, Clarke has always been the biggest talker, but tonight Lexa kisses her every time she opens her mouth to do anything except pant and moan. “Sshh,” she whispers against Clarke’s ear. “Let me take care of you.” She closes her teeth around Clarke’s earlobe, tugging three times before releasing, and increases their speed while she starts a soft chant in Clarke’s ear. “I love you, I love you, I love you--”

Clarke comes with a cry, stifled, and when Lexa bows her head, her hips bucking erratically, Clarke puts her hand against Lexa’s cheek. “Come for me,” she asks, soft, and Lexa obeys; helpless, undone.

 

“We’re good,” Lexa says, later, after they’ve showered and slipped into bed and traded a final lazy spearmint kiss. “Right?”

Clarke peers up from over the book she’s reading, under the dim glow of the bedside reading lamp. “What?”

Lexa rolls on her side to face Clarke, tucking an arm up under her head. “We’re--not fighting anymore. Right?”

Clarke stares at her for a long moment. “Wow,” she says finally. “I can’t believe I’m the one of us that’s better at healthy relationships.” Lexa scowls, and Clarke rolls her eyes. She flicks the light off and sets her book aside, wriggling down in the dark and pulling Lexa close. Lexa allows herself to be turned, and tucked under Clarke’s chin. “We’re not fighting,” Clarke says gently. “And we’ll communicate better now, right?”

“Right,” Lexa breathes. She goes limp, relieved, and Clarke smoothes her hair. 

“It’s okay if you’re still mad at me. We can talk more.”

Lexa blinks. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“You’re so dumb sometimes,” Clarke says, and she doesn’t have to sound so pleased about it. But she kisses Lexa on the temple, and her body is soft and warm and solid, her arm across Lexa’s waist and her palm flat on Lexa’s belly, pushed up under her shirt to press their skin together, so Lexa just tilts her head back so Clarke can sleep with her cheek against the back of Lexa’s neck.

++

Two weeks after that, Clarke gets drunk at Octavia’s and thinks about a new game.

++

Lexa doesn’t let Clarke tie her up very often. Clarke, privately, thinks it might offend Lexa’s perfectionist tendencies; she’s never once failed when Clarke’s told her to grasp the bedframe and not let go without permission. Clarke shrugged once, a long time ago, and stopped bringing it up. If Lexa doesn’t like something she’s not interested either. So when Lexa sits next to her on the couch and keeps shifting, restless, Clarke’s surprised when she clicks off the television and presses a box into Clarke’s hand.

“I was watching that,” she protests, and Lexa rolls her eyes. 

“Do you want to watch a Law and Order rerun, or do you want to play?”

“I like it when you yell at the lawyers,” Clarke says, but she swings her legs up across Lexa’s lap and takes the box. “What’s this?”

Lexa fidgets. “For you,” she mumbles. Clarke kisses her nose, then tugs at the strings around the small box. It’s fancy, about the size of a bread loaf, and covered in red fabric. Clarke knocks the lid askew and peers inside. Four soft looking thin lengths of cloth, thick and plush. Clarke blinks. 

“What’s this?”

Lexa fidgets again. “For you,” she repeats, and then huffs when Clarke looks at her, blank. “For--us. To play.”

“If you can’t even say it, it’s not happening.”

Lexa bites her lip. She looks up through her lashes, her ears pink. “I want you to tie me up.”

Clark experiences a pang of arousal that leaves her lightheaded. “Get undressed,” she orders, and her voice is already rasping. “Wait for me on the bed.”

Lexa takes a breath, her eyes darkening. “Yes Clarke,” she murmurs, and when she rises her body is pure sex, rolling grace. 

 

 

“It’s the aesthetic,” Clarke tells her, running a single finger up Lexa’s right forearm, up to her wrist and swirling around the soft red tie binding her firmly to the headboard. She sits back on her heels and sighs, Lexa spread out in front of her, hands and feet restrained, splayed out spread-eagled and naked. “Test?”

Lexa wraps her fingers around the fabric and yanks, experimental. There’s some give, which Clarke likes, and they hold. She kicks her feet and it’s the same result. Lexa grunts with effort, then relaxes. She nods.

Clarke stands, buckling the familiar harness around her waist. “I’d love to tie ropes around you. Silk ones. Not to hurt--” she slings herself across Lexa’s hips, the bright pink rubber bouncing a little. Clarke pokes it and watches it jiggle, faintly bemused. “--just because you’d look so good in it. Not that you don’t always--” She bends, sucking at one nipple, then biting, hard. Lexa’s whole body arches up. “--look--” She repeats it on the other nipple, and Lexa shudders “--good. Because you do.” Lexa jerks, straining against the ties again before making herself relax. Clarke runs a hand down Lexa’s side, soothing. “Color.”

“Green,” Lexa says, but she’s frowning, faintly, shifting uncomfortably.

Clarke kisses her once, carefully soft. “If you’re not having fun, we stop. You know that.”

“And ruin your aesthetic?” Lexa smiles, teasing. “It’s okay, I just…” she trails off, frowning. Clarke waits her out, tracing aimless patterns with her nails across Lexa’s chest. Lexa makes a noise, frustrated, and strains her head up. Clarke obliges her, kissing her settled. 

“Tell me,” Clarke asks, “please?”

“I can’t,” Lexa mutters.

Clarke slides down to lie on her side. “You can,” she murmurs, and lays an open mouthed kiss to Lexa’s throat. “You can tell me, baby, it’s okay.”

“No,” Lexa mumbles. She tilts her head back and Clarke sits her teeth on her neck, just resting, no pressure. “Not that,” Lexa says, “I can’t--” she whines and Clarke bites down until she goes limp.

“Can’t get in the right mood?” Clarke asks, pulling back to check Lexa’s face. “Can’t get out of your head?”

“Can’t get in,” Lexa says, on an exhale, She doesn’t look at Clarke until Clarke slides gentle fingers under her jaw and makes her. 

“Okay,” Clarke says, after a long moment. “Do you want to? We don’t have to.”

Lexa thinks for a minute, and Clarke peppers her shoulder with six quick kisses in a row, comforting, before lying quietly against her side, waiting. “I want to,” Lexa says finally. “But I--can you?”

“Yes,” Clarke assures her, “of course, baby. Always.” She starts just where she’d left off, resting her teeth on the skin beneath Lexa’s jaw and letting Lexa feel pressure, increasing slowly until she’s sure there’ll be a dark mark there tomorrow, then pulling back and doing it again, just below the last bite, all down her neck, across her shoulder and into her upper bicep. She pulls back and counts--twelve marks in all, and Lexa is quiet and limp, except for the soft sigh when Clarke took her teeth away. 

“You’ll have to wear a scarf on Monday,” Clarke tells her, pitching her voice low. “Maybe Tuesday. Hope you have a few turtlenecks somewhere.” She switches to the other side of Lexa’s face and starts on making it match. “What do you say?” She’s just finished the second bite when Lexa whispers, raspy.

“Thank you,” she mumbles. Clarke makes her next bite faster, harder. Lexa shivers. “Thank you,” she says again, and again, breathier every time after every sucking mark, and it’s so good Clarke does it seventeen times, almost to Lexa’s inner elbow. Clarke licks over the trail, and then all the way up Lexa’s cheek.

“You’re my good girl,” she says. Lexa shivers again. “You’re going to be so good, all tied up for me,” Clarke croons. “When you can’t move at all, can’t close your legs or twist to let up the pressure. You just have to lie down and be spread wide open and take what I give you.”

Lexa sucks a lip between her teeth, panting. She vocalizes, low in her throat, a long rumble.

Clarke swings a leg up and scoots up Lexa’s body, until she’s just over Lexa’s chest, Lexa’s breasts pushing against her knees. The dildo tip pokes Lexa’s chin, bumps her mouth. Lexa mouths at it, blindly, kitten licks. “What are you?”

“Yours,” Lexa says, and sighs long and hard. The tension rolls out of her, and when she opens her eyes they’re hazy, blown, heavy lidded.

Clarke slides a palm around Lexa’s throat and squeezes, slow, for ten long seconds, then releases for five. She does it three times, harder each time. “What are you?”

Lexa’s hands go limp, hanging in the ties. “Your good girl.”

Clarke kisses her and Lexa yields, sweetly, letting Clarke direct the pace, the pressure. Clarke stills her tongue and Lexa sucks on it, gentle and persistent. Clarke pulls away and Lexa lets her tongue loll out. Clarke scoots forward and lets the dildo dip into her bowed lips, Lexa hollowing her cheeks. Clarke draws out and then slides in, a little farther each time, and every time she retreats Lexa sucks in a breath and then sticks out her tongue, as far as she can, for Clarke’s next thrust. “Big breath,” Clarke murmurs, and then goes nearly all the way in, holding the position while Lexa’s throat works around the stretch of the toy. She slides her hips back and stays out for a few long seconds to let Lexa suck in harsh lungfuls of air before she relaxes her throat and Clarke thrusts again. She continues for almost five minutes, until small tears are leaking from Lexa’s eyes. 

Clarke holds the dildo at the base, sitting back. “Color?”

Lexa takes a second to answer, her eyes fixed on the rubber hovering just out of her reach. “Green. Please, Clarke. I’ll be good.”

“Tongue,” she says, and Lexa obeys. “You’re always good,” Clarke tells her, and snaps her hips three times, hard enough Lexa makes soft gagging noises, helpless. “Good girl,” Clarke praises her. “You’ve earned a reward.” She settles between Lexa’s spread, trembling thighs, and licks straight into her, filthy and open mouthed. “Stick out your tongue,” she says, and Lexa obeys. “Keep it out until I say.” She goes hard and fast, until Lexa clenches, flooding, and cleans her up slow and careful before diving back in. She slips in a finger beside her thrusting tongue and Lexa jerks under her, whining, unable to buck her hips or twist away.

 

“Yellow,” Lexa gasps after her third orgasm, dragging her dry tongue back into her mouth and licking the roof of her mouth desperately. Clarke rests her head on Lexa’s leg, stroking comforting fingers up Lexa’s thigh and around her belly button. Lexa is panting, gasping, shaking, and Clark tickles her nails up Lexa’s ribs, her jaw faintly aching. 

“You taste so good,” she hums gently, intimately. “I could eat you out all night.” Lexa shudders. “So beautiful,” Clarke continues, reverent, “so smart, so sexy. And you’re so good for me, always.” Lexa moans. “My good girl.” Clarke drops a single kiss to her hip. “How’re you doing, pretty girl?”

“Green,” Lexa breathes, and Clarke keeps her tongue feather light, carefully cleaning Lexa’s pretty flushed cunt, her slick inner thighs. She props her chin on the mattress and touches a single finger to Lexa’s clit, pressing until Lexa’s moan breaks on a choked noise, then blows a long cool stream of air over her. Lexa sobs, and her hips cant up, the few scant inches they can before the ties stop her progress. Clarke crawls up her body and uses the edge of the pillowcase to dab the sweat out of Lexa’s eyes.

“Ready?” Clarke presses her forehead against Lexa’s, one hand over Lexa’s left shoulder and the other at the base of the strap on. She waits until Lexa’s licked her lips and nodded before pressing inside her, not stopping until the base of the harness bumps against Lexa’s hip. Lexa’s mouth is stretched open, her chest still. Clarke flicks her nipple and Lexa exhales all at once.

“Oh,” she says, a tiny gasp, and Clarke braces both elbows over Lexa’s shoulders, her knees digging into the mattress as she starts a rhythm, sharp and snapping. “Oh,” Lexa keeps saying, almost squeaking them out, “oh, oh, oh oh oh--”

Clarke presses their hips flush and starts a grind, moving hard inside her without pulling out. “So good,” Clarke groans, the pressure just right on her clit, “baby, take it, just like that--,” she babbles nonsense, moving erratically, and when she comes she sinks her teeth into Lexa’s neck, over two of her new hickeys, and bites until she tastes the faintest hint of copper. She lets herself go limp, slumped over Lexa’s body and breathing harshly, licking at any skin she can reach without moving her head. She rests until Lexa shifts under her, then kisses her once, sweetly clinging. 

“Green,” Lexa mumbles. She twitches her hips and cuts Clarke a pleading look, dripping sweat. 

“So good,” Clarke says again. She moves her hips in a lazy circle. “Do you want my fingers instead? My mouth?”

Lexa doesn’t answer, her eyes rolled back in her head. Clarke stops moving and Lexa swallows. “Fingers,” she rasps. Clarke goes to pull out and Lexa twists against the ties. She yelps and shakes her head and Clarke stops, surprised.

“You sure?”

“Green,” Lexa says again, hungry, and when Clarke pulls out without warning she sobs, protesting wordlessly. Clarke smacks her inner thigh, making her jump.

“Be good.” Lexa stills immediately, and Clarke turns around, undoes the tie around each foot and rubs at her ankles, brisk. “Up and over.” Clarke helps her, guiding her onto her knees, her fingers wrapping firmly around the material binding her wrists to the headboard. Clarke nudges her and Lexa bows her back until her face presses into the pillow. She spreads her knees wide and Clarke gets into position behind her. She fucks Lexa is short sharp thrusts, changing the angle until she finds the one that makes Lexa sob and babble and when she slips two fingers in alongside the toy, curling, Lexa comes on a wrenched wail.

Lexa collapses forward, spent, and Clarke undoes her wrists carefully, checking for chafing before nudging her into a more careful position and flopping next to her. Lexa curls an arm around her chest and nuzzles into her throat, making soft pleading noises, and Clarke tugs her closer. “Sshh,” she soothes sleepily, flailing out until she finds the topsheet and tugs it over them. They’re both too tired to care about cleaning up, and Lexa doesn’t like it when Clarke isn’t there, pressed skin to skin, while she surfaces. “Good girl,” Clarke says, and tells Lexa how perfect she was, how obedient, how sexy, how much Clarke loves her, until Lexa’s eyes clear, slowly, and she sighs a final time and dozes off, eyelashes fluttering against Clarke’s skin. 

++

“I’m having lunch with Niylah today,” Clarke says at breakfast the next morning, curled up on the couch sucking down coffee and fruity pebble Captain Crunch while Lexa sips green tea from the table and judges her food choices over wheat toast and plain yogurt.

“Mm,” Lexa says. She frowns, then smoothes her face out. “Alright.”

Clarke hesitates. “It’s okay, right? I mean, you know I don’t--. I mean, I love _you_.”

“I know,” Lexa says evenly. She throws her yogurt away. “I’m going for a run.” Clarke catches her by the wrist as she passes and kisses the tips of her fingers. Lexa musses her rumpled hair, cracking the faintest of smiles, and goes into the bedroom to change. 

++

“It’s not that she’s jealous,” Clarke insists, over lunch. “It’s something else.”

Niylah shrugs, stealing a handful of Clarke’s fries. “Then ask her. Honestly, you two are so functional it’s disgusting.” She switches topics, back to her long, well thought out hypothesis on exactly what it is that makes her boss such a raving bitch, and Clarke lets the moment pass. SHe finds she and Niylah are much better friends now than they were during their semi-disastrous attempt at a no strings attached relationship. 

++

Lexa has pad thai sitting out on the table when she comes home, dropping her keys on the counter and kicking off her shoes. “Shower!” she calls out, thinking Lexa’s just out of sight in the kitchen, but Lexa swoops at her when she enters the bedroom, drawing her into a kiss that leaves her tingling. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Lexa says, smiling. “Missed you.”

“I wasn’t even gone a full day.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Lexa kisses her again; Clarke’s toes curl. “I always miss you.”

“Niylah was right,” Clarke says, already working on the button of Lexa’s pants. “We’re disgusting.” Lexa tenses under her fingers, and when Clarke looks up her face is blank. “Lex?”

The unfamiliar look on her face fades away; she smiles. “It’s fine.” She tugs Clarke’s shirt up and away and cups her hands around Clarke’s breasts, her face blissed out as soon as she tests their weight, sighing happily. 

Clarke rolls her eyes, bemused. “You’re such a tits girl.”

“Not true,” Lexa murmurs, stepping closer. She squeezes Clarke’s ass, tight, and licks over Clarke’s bra, tracing the outline of her nipple. “I can be both.”

“Yeah yeah,” Clarke says, pushing Lexa back and stepping out of her clothes, undoing her bra and tossing it aside. “You’re the most super lesbian of all time. Get naked.”

 

They tumble on the bed together, giggling, and Lexa sighs, relaxing, when Clarke gets her on her back and closes a hand gently over her throat. She squeezes very gently, teasing, and Lexa spreads her legs, eager. Clarke brushes over her, feeling her thighs, swooping under to her ass, rolling nails over her hips, until Lexa breaks; “Please, Clarke.”

Clarke swipes three fingers through Lexa’s cunt before she puts her thigh over Lexa’s hot drenched center and rocks, hard. She pushes a thumb to Lexa’s lips and presses it down hard on Lexa’s tongue when they slip open, inviting. Lexa sucks herself off Clarke’s fingers, quiet and focused and unrelenting, and her hips rise and fall with Clarke’s leg, matching her rhythm easily. “I love your fingers,” Clarke murmurs, and Lexa slips her palm under Clarke, cupping, fingers up, locking her wrist as Clarke grinds down, eager. “Two,” Clarke orders, and she’s wet enough Lexa slides in without resistance; not nearly enough friction. “Three,” Clarke amends, and Lexa complies. 

Clarke comes first, gasping wetly into Lexa’s mouth, and Lexa sucks at Clarke’s slick on her own fingers while Clarke fucks her with her tongue, until Lexa’s thighs squeeze together, blocking out all sounds except the rushing of her pulse. “Clarke,” she breathes out, when she finally relaxes and Clarke crawls up her for another kiss. 

“One more,” Clarke murmurs, slipping her fingers back into Lexa and scissoring, slow and lazy. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Lexa says, one leg hooking around Clarke’s waist. “S’good. Don’t stop.”

“I won’t.” Clarke bites Lexa’s bottom lip, tugging, before pressing the sides of their cheeks together, her fingers curling just how Lexa likes it. “Gonna tell Octavia all about this,” she murmurs, “how fucking hot you are, how hard you make me come.”

Lexa gasps, shuddering. She clenches around Clarke’s fingers, hips rolling. “Fuck,” she bites out. “Ahh--fuck, fuck me.”

“I am,” Clarke says, obnoxiously, and Lexa isn’t so far gone she doesn’t roll her eyes. Clarke dips her head and nips at Lexa’s neck. “I think I might have been a vampire in a previous life. Except you’re the only one I ever want to bite.” She hums against Lexa’s jugular. “Never want my marks on you to fade.” A sound punches out of Lexa’s chest, velvety and sex drenched.

It’s so wet and so wanton and Clarke wants more, always. “We should play that game,” she muses, feeling Lexa get closer and closer. “Dress up and go to some classy lounge. You can pick me up at the bar in that suit that drives me crazy, makes you look like the C.E.O. of the fucking world.” Clarke giggles, enjoying Lexa’s pulse fluttering against her cheek, but Lexa goes abruptly tense under her, still, and not in the good way. “Lex?”

Lexa takes a breath. “It’s fine,” she says. Her hips rolls again, but she’s still drawn up tight, muscles locked, and her breathing is uneven, almost panicked. Clarke props herself up, frowning. Lexa has her eyes shut, her hands by her side, fisted. 

“Lexa?”

“I said it’s fine,” Lexa grits out, and pumps her hips again. Her face twists, grimacing, the fluttering around Clarke’s fingers has completely stilled.

“Red,” Clarke says, and Lexa’s eyes fly open. Clarke pulls away, and Lexa curls up into herself, hunched against the pillows, her legs folded up and her chin on her knee. Clarke looks down at her fingers, still shining, and wipes them on the sheets, feeling sick. “I need a minute,” she says, and stands abruptly, moving quick into the bathroom. She shuts the door behind her and braces herself on the counter, bent double. She takes five deep breaths, counting slow, and splashes water on her face. Lexa’s sweatshirt is half hanging out of the hamper, coffee splashed on the right sleeve on her way back from a run, but it’s dry now and Clarke pulls it on.

The door squeaks when it opens and Lexa is sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes cast down. She’s wearing one of Clarke’s shirts, not buttoned but tugged loosely around her, the collar turned up against her nose. Clarke goes to her immediately, climbing into her lap, and Lexa’s exhale is shaky, it’s so relieved. She gathers Clarke up, close and then lies them down, pressed tight and wrapped around each other. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” Clarke pushes them apart, just enough so they’re lying side by side, legs tangled but a foot of distance between their chests and faces. “What happened?”

Lexa frowns. “It is,” she says, swallowing, “my own issue. I will work through it.”

Clarke fumbles to link their hands in the space between them. “We’re a team now, right? You help me and I’ll help you.”

Lexa arches an eyebrow. “So I’m invited to dinner with your mother?”

Clarke winces. “That's for your sake, I swear. If I could get out of it too I would.” Lexa stays silent and Clarke sighs. “You’re right, okay? But it’s not because… I’m not serious about you, or anything.”

“Hm,” Lexa says, neutral.

Clarke sighs again. “Fine, yes, I know. I haven’t told my mother about the most serious relationship I’ve ever been in because I hate talking about feelings and I also hate talking to my mother and bringing you to dinner would include talking about both of those things.”

“Hm,” Lexa says again, tinged with triumph.

“Okay but this is about us. I’d talk about my feelings if it was affecting us.”

Lexa’s pointed silence rests heavily on the memory of the first time Lexa told Clarke she loved her, after which Clarke choked on her own spit, held up Lexa’s phone instead of her own, and claimed to have been called away on a very sudden emergency before dropping it, tripping over nothing, and fleeing; she avoided Lexa’s calls for three days. 

Clarke huffs. “I’m growing as a person.” She rests a careful hand on Lexa’s hip. “I don’t… I don’t like to see you so upset. Especially if I made you that way.”

Lexa shifts. “It’s nothing you’ve done.”

“Tell me,” Clarke requests, wriggling until their noses are touching, their breaths mixing. 

“I am,” Lexa says, halting, “not a nice person.”

Clarke blinks. Then she laughs straight in Lexa’s face. She regrets it immediately, because Lexa’s face slams shut and she sits up, moving away. “No--” Clarke grabs her wrist. “Lexa, stop, sorry, sorry. It’s just--that’s ridiculous. You’re the best person I know.”

“I didn’t say I was unkind,” Lexa snaps, her back still stiff. “I’m just not---I don’t change well. I’ve been told I’m generally uncompromising. I don’t care for most people, and I’d rather not have large groups of friends. I am not a nice person.”

“Okay,” Clarke says, sliding a little closer. She leans her cheek on Lexa’s back. “Fine, you’re not nice. But you are kind, and strong, and loving.”

“Niylah’s nice,” Lexa mutters. “She texted me on my birthday; we’ve met only once. I don’t even have nice friends.”

Clarke grits her teeth. “Anya’s… nice.” Ridiculously, it’s that blatant lie that makes Lexa relax and turn her head, smiling faintly at Clarke over her own shoulder.

“I’m telling her you said that.”

“Whatever,” Clarke gets closer, wrapping Lexa up in a loose backhug. “Is that what’s bothering you? My ex is nicer than you? And remember, the term ‘ex’ barely even applies.”

Lexa frowns. “You’re nice,” she mutters. “And--kind. You want to help everyone, you see the best in the world; you still believe that everyone can change for the better.” She turns, sudden, serious. “You deserve the best; you deserve everything.” Her face twists, sour. “Someone special to spend your life with.”

“Yeah,” Clarke says without thinking too much, “I have you.” Her brain catches up. “Wait, what?” She holds Lexa’s face between her palms. “Lexa, are you serious? You think we shouldn’t be together because you’re not _nice_ enough?” She flicks Lexa in the forehead. “It’s my job to run away from self-loathing in this relationship, okay? Don’t try and usurp me.” She kisses Lexa, more desperate than her joking words bely. “You're everything, do you hear me? You take care of me, and you challenge me, and you support me; you’re everything. I love you so much, baby, don’t say you don’t see us together forever.” A tear slips out of her eye before she can stop it and Lexa catches it with her thumb, sweeping it away. 

“Clarke,” she murmurs, “of course. I have never once intended to be with anyone else.”

“Okay,” Clarke says, wiping harshly at her face and pulling herself together. “Than what’s--why--?”

“I just get angry with myself sometimes. I want to be better for you, like the other people you've dated. Except Finn,” Lexa adds with a mutter, and Clarke has to smile, because Lexa will never be over her hatred of Finn. 

“I don’t want other people,” she says firmly. “I want _you_.”

“You have me. Always.”

Clarke kisses her, hard. “Good. Now tell me what triggered all this? Just now, I mean.”

Lexa’s quiet for another minute, gearing up for something, and Clarke sprawls herself in Lexa’s lap, Lexa’s fingers trailing through her hair. “I am not the same person I was when we met,” Lexa muses finally. “I am not the same person I was ten years ago, or the same person I was last week. I would not want you to meet who I was as nineteen. I--we’ve worked too hard, Clarke, to get where we are.” 

She falls quiet, tracing Clarke’s ear and tapping absentmindedly at Clarke’s temple, and Clarke waits, thinking it through. “Okay,” she says. “I understand.” She sits up, and swings her legs around, one stretched across Lexa’s lap, her chin on Lexa’s shoulder. “Baby,” she says, so soft, and Lexa shivers, swaying towards her. “Tell me as soon I suggest something you don’t like.”

Lexa bumps a fumbling kiss against the corner of her mouth. “It’s stupid,” she mutters, “it’s not even that kinky, pretending to be strangers in a bar. I don’t know why it bothered me.”

“There doesn’t have to be a reason.”

Lexa huffs. “There is always a reason, Clarke.”

“We should ask Anya,” Clarke muses. “She’s known you the longest---or I could have lunch with Costia again, that constipated look you get when we talk about you always makes me find clarity.”

“Those are the worst ideas you have ever had,” Lexa tells her. “And I’m including the one where you asked Raven to hit on your mom to get us out of that bistro without being seen.”

“That was pure genius. Raven sends her a sexy candy gram whenever she fills my voicemail box.”

“Of course,” Lexa says, dry, “that is the most appropriate and rational response. Instead of calling her back.”

Clarke checks the time. “Fuck, it’s late as hell. I’m hungry.”

When she stands Lexa is looking up at her, her emotions stripped bare, and Clarke kisses her, long and slow; Lexa breathes her name like a prayer.

 

They eat cold takeout on the couch, Clarke’s back nestled into Lexa’s chest and the carton propped in Clarke’s lap, the blanket pulled over their legs. Clarke steals the carrots off Lexa’s fork. They fall asleep with the television playing in the background, sending washes of color across the couch, and when Clarke wakes Lexa is watching her, love creased in the marks the couch left on her face, and Clarke kisses her once, closed mouth, nothing lingering or fancy or urgent. Doesn’t have to be, no need to cram anything more into their morning, the rest of their lives stretched out in front of them, together.

**Author's Note:**

> .... i ... don't even... know.... when... did i move... into this.... trash can...
> 
> holla @ me on tumblr: feeltripping


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